Teacups & Tentacles | ONC 2022

22. Get Stuffed

There was a timid knock on Inspector Gusset's office door.

"Come in!" the Inspector mumbled, not looking up from the myriad papers splayed out on his desk's ink blotter. He quickly scribbled a few words on the paper directly in front of him, then moved it to a different stack.

It was not yet nine in the morning and already things were developing badly. The toast had burnt, they were out of marmalade, he'd not been able to find his left sock, his teenaged son had blocked the loo overly long, the omnibus had been criminally overcrowded, three new cases had appeared on his desk over night and the oily station tea that sat steaming in a chipped cup next to his elbow was even filthier tasting than usual.

That last notion, he was willing to grant, could have been entirely his subjective opinion and the tea was, in fact, exactly as filthy as usual. At that current moment, he would not have laid money on his accurate assessment of the situation.

The timid knock sounded again.

"I said, come in!" the inspector shouted, aggressively slapping the paper he was reading into a file and slamming it shut.

The door opened and Sergeant Willmont appeared, waving before him -- like a white flag of surrender -- what Gusset at first took to be an unlit cigarette. He approached Gusset's desk.

"Anonymous tip, sir. Just arrived."

Gusset plucked the cigarette from Willmont's outstretched hand and saw that it was, indeed, not a cigarette, but a small, tightly rolled strip of paper. The writing, although neat, was too miniscule to read without assistance. He pulled open one of the drawers of his desk and took out a magnifying glass, which he dusted off on his jacket. Then he anchored the unrolled paper flat with two heavy dossiers and read through the glass:

ANON TIP: escaped octopus after crown jewels. £100 for details leading to its capture. Answer and/or cash via Marty (pigeon). To Inspector Gassit: alert Tower of London. We're serious.

"Marty? Did this happen to arrive by pigeon?" Inspector Gusset looked at Willmont.

"Yes, sir. We believe Marty to be the name of the pigeon that delivered the tip, sir. Bright little chap. Does a cute dance when you feed him some cake."

"I see. And how long did you lads upstairs spend feeding bright little Marty cake before it occurred to you to bringing this down?" Inspector Gusset placed the magnifying glass gently back into the drawer and leaned back in his chair, which squeaked under the strain. He said nothing, but the irritated look on his face and the rising tide of red flush spoke volumes. 

The sergeant braced himself for an explosion. 

He didn't have to wait long.

Gusset's hand slammed down on a short stack of files. "This is what I meant by them being a damned nuisance, Willmont! They know things, important things, probably even where the beast is at this very second, but would rather play games than do the decent thing and come forward," Gusset said, glaring at his inferior. 

"And where in the name of Cogmaster Wilkie are we supposed to getting one hundred pounds, when we can hardly afford to better the swill that passes for tea around here? Hm? AND if we had such an exorbitant sum, AND first-rate tea, why would we willingly hand it over to a bunch of lunatics when we've got our own investigation to finance? Oh, and it's Inspector Gassit, is it? Very funny. Hilarious. What comedians."

Willmont shifted from foot to foot. "Um...does that mean you know who the anonymous tip is from, sir? It's just that the lads--"

"Don't be such an idiot!" screamed Gusset. "It's the bloody Masterminds, isn't it? Their name is all over this."

Willmont decided it was best not to point out that the tip was anonymous, which meant there was no name on it at all. He had checked. How the Inspector thought it was covered in names, he couldn't for the life of him fathom. 

Inspector Gassit, however, was actually rather funny, considering that story about him having stunk out the entire station once after eating a bad pasty. That one was a favourite with some of the older constables who enjoyed rehashing it around major holidays.

The sergeant endeavoured to keep a grin from blossoming on his face and enraging his superior even further.

Instead he asked, "so the octopus isn't after the crown jewels, then?"

"No, sergeant, it isn't. Use your brain for a moment. What would an octopus, a creature of the oceans, want with a jaw-dropping pile of royal jew—" Gusset hesitated, his eyebrows bunching together over his nose to form a thick line of stormy annoyance. When he spoke again, it was in an icy tone.

"Is the pigeon still upstairs?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I want you to write this message down and give it to him to deliver home, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Willmont, flipping open his notebook and preparing to write.

"Ready?"

"Yes, sir."

Gusset dictated the message, then booted the man out of his office. After a few minutes of intense thought and mumbled invective, he reluctantly made his way down the central switchboard and requested a direct line to the Tower of London.

Marty winged his way home to the roof of the Mastermind Society where the pesky cylinder was detached from his leg and he was left to enjoy the tasty assortment of seeds that rained into his bowl.

The message was carried down four flights of stairs and into the front salon where it was handed to Godwin.

Amelia had gone home the night previously. She couldn't afford to be found missing or her sister would very much have a reason to tighten the surveillance she was already under. Godwin, who was under no such restrictions, had spent the night at the Society and taken charge of operations in Amelia's absence.

He unrolled the paper and read the message aloud to the few Masterminds who had assembled there so early.

It was short and to the point. 

"Get stuffed. Signed, Inspector Gusset."

"What?" cried Millie Goldwalken. "You mean there's no hundred pounds?"

Godwin shook his head and handed her the paper. Several necks craned to read over her shoulder. Clickings of tongues and hisses of disapproval followed.

"Good, well, we've given them their chance," grumped Andrew Highbottom, straightening up. "Rotten penny pinchers. So it's over to us, then?"

Godwin nodded. "Roddy will get his lads on the streets and the rest of us will mobilise whatever, wherever we can as we planned. We don't know when he will strike, but it can't be long in coming. And remember, the guardsmen at the Tower are known to be trigger happy, so caution is called for. I don't mean looking twice. I mean genuine caution."

Heads nodded, fists clenched and not a few delighted grimaces lit up faces as the troupe exited to get cracking on their part of the plan to bag Finch and his diabolical toy.